


I'm Saving my Kissing Virginity for Brian Molko

by evilmaniclaugh



Series: The Molko Diaries [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Multi, musketeers modern au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU set in London around 2004 where Porthos and Aramis are 20 and Athos is 23. </p><p>Part two of the learning curve of modern day, sexually repressed, drunk!Athos with guyliner. In this episode, Aramis plays David Dimbleby and they all get to explore a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Saving my Kissing Virginity for Brian Molko

When Aramis arrives back at the flat, after a full day of gender studies, Porthos is feeling smug. He yawns contentedly and strokes Athos, who’s been sitting in his lap for the past hour, lolling against him and totally absorbed in a novel.

“So this is why you didn’t get the washing done,” says Aramis, leaning against the door frame and smiling indulgently at them.

“He was comfortable,” explains Porthos. “I couldn’t disturb him, could I?” He begins to plait Athos' hair into miniature braids and grins when his hand is swatted away.

Aramis plonks himself next to them and peers at the book cover. “Oranges are not the Only Fruit,” he says. “Not what I’d expect to find you reading.”

“I’m exploring my lack of sexuality,” says Athos with a half smile. “I thought lesbian fiction might help me understand myself better, but I’m just as appalled at the idea of muff diving as I was before.”

“Being asexual must be easier than being omnisexual,” sighs Aramis. “Everything’s so complicated.”

“Who now?” sighs Porthos in return. Aramis’ love life is legendary. 

“I may have accidentally fallen into bed with Anne and Louis Bourbon at a party last night,” he confesses and holds up a hand, palm facing Porthos. “Don’t say anything. I know.”

Porthos shakes his head. They might not have legacy students at Imperial, but if they did the Bourbons would be awarded that status. Aramis is crazy to mess with them, but then Aramis is crazy, full stop.

“I take it you haven’t met Louis’ mother Marie,” drawls Athos. “She’ll rip you to pieces if you hurt her baby boy. _If_ she’s speaking to him, that is.” He looks up at Aramis. “Who are you, by the way? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Porthos rocks with laughter at the look on Aramis’ face. “He’s Aramis. He lives here too,” he explains.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” says Athos formally, sharing himself out evenly between the two men, his legs hooked over Aramis’ thighs. “Have you boys got anything to drink? I’m parched.”

“Coffee?” says Porthos, hoping to show off his new skills. He’s great with the little silver espresso maker from upstairs. Holding it hostage means that Athos has to come here often, and that suits him fine.

“Not that kind of parched,” says Athos drily.

“We have some red wine,” says Aramis and Athos shifts his legs to allow freedom of movement.

Taking the hint, Aramis gets to his feet. “I’ll pour you a drink if you answer some questions.”

“Agreed,” says Athos. “Six per bottle. Although, why you’d want to know anything about me, I can’t imagine.”

Porthos smooths his hand down Athos’ arm. All snuggled up and comfy like this, he’s happy with things just the way they are. He stares pointedly at Aramis, when he returns with two beers, a tumbler of wine and a bottle tucked under his arm, hoping the line of questioning won’t be too intrusive. The last thing he wants is to drive their new playmate away.

Athos sits up to take the glass, has a sip, pulls a face and then swallows half of it in one go. “Tesco’s finest?” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

“Asda's actually,” says Porthos. With Athos now sitting next to him, rather than on him, he feels the absence profoundly and with a possessive growl, wraps an arm around him and tugs him closer. “It’s cold without you." Athos glances over at him. “And I liked having you there,” he confesses with a grin.

Athos finishes his wine, puts the glass on the table and then lies back down until he’s stretched out across both men, purring happily when Porthos rubs a palm up and down his side.

Aramis watches the way Porthos is petting him and then rests a hand on Athos’ belly, his fingers toying with the material of his shirt. They steal a look at each other. How on earth can this be so fucking sexy?

“Question time,” says Aramis, sucking thoughtfully on the rim of his beer bottle. “Are you a virgin?” 

Athos quirks an eyebrow. “Be specific, Dimbleby. Do you mean boys or girls?” 

“Boys,” says Porthos.

“No,” says Athos, putting his book down and checking his phone.

“Girls then?” asks Porthos. Athos does have a heavy gay vibe going on.

“No.” His 'blink or you’ll miss it' smile is cheeky. “That’s three questions, but I’ll be generous and call it two."

“One,” says Aramis. "Stop trying to cheat." He pinches Athos and laughs when he squirms at his touch. "Precious, aren't you?"

Athos smirks up at him. “If you’re omnisexual, does this apply to you?” He shows Aramis a picture.

Aramis shudders. “That’s just freaky. Take it away.”

Porthos grabs the handset and bursts out laughing at the photo of a bloke wearing lingerie and having sex with the exhaust pipe of his car.

“I just wondered,” says Athos innocently.

“I meant I'm omnisexual with _people_ ,” says Aramis. “People on people.”

“Then it’s a good job I didn’t show you that one of a man and his favourite chi-”

“Another question,” interrupts Aramis with a grin. “Do you wank off?”

“Yes.” Athos nods and his face flushes a little with preprogrammed shame. He reaches for the wine bottle, and his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep pull on it. 

Porthos watches a pink slip of tongue dart out to swipe away the droplets. “Do you come when you wank?” he asks. His voice is too loud in his ears. He can feel the rush of blood. He's dizzy from it.

“Yes, mostly.”

Porthos rakes his hand over Athos’ chest. That tight black shirt puckers and rolls up and he circles his fingernail, in perpetual motion, around a pert, pink nipple.

Aramis splays his hand across the fly of Athos’ jeans. “Can other people make you come?”

“Sometimes.” Athos looks at each of them in turn and then takes another swallow of wine. “It depends how I’m feeling. I can never be sure.”

Porthos is rock hard, and just a glance reveals the contours of Aramis’ erection, distending the front of his chinos. Athos’ dick is still curled soft, his skinny jeans displaying everything, but, other than that, he looks beautifully aroused, face rosy, eyes heavy lidded. Porthos glances again at Aramis, who nods almost imperceptibly. “Can we make you come?” he asks, gritty with need.

Up until now, he'd been wondering whether this was just Athos being Athos, playing a strange game of chance with them, but that uncertain look and moment of hesitation tells all.

“You can try,” Athos says tentatively. “It may not work.”

“We’d like to give it a go,” says Aramis.

His voice is husky, dry sounding, and Porthos is intrigued by how much Aramis wants this. How much they both do. 

“You’re pretty. We want to play with you,” Aramis continues. His eyes never leave Athos’ face, but his hand is busy, flicking open the buttons of his fly.

“What do you think about when you jerk off?” asks Porthos. His arms fold around Athos. He palms that silken smooth skin then reaches down to help Aramis wiggle jeans over narrow hips. “Don’t tell us. Just think about it.”

“You can tell us if it works for you.” Aramis watches how he responds to the joint touch, their hands wandering over him, jeans and boxers now at mid thigh. "We'll do anything you like.”

Athos bites his lip and arches up, his face buried against Porthos’ neck, warm and exciting. His cock unfurls lazily, filling with blood, and Porthos itches with a need to touch. They’re taking it slow though. Slow and careful. 

“Do you kiss?” asks Porthos. He wants to taste that mouth, lips tinted with wine, breath tainted with something smoky and intoxicating, but Athos shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I never have.”

"You should try it,” says Porthos. Kissing is one of his favourite things in the world and he never gets to do it. The rule seems to be that you don't kiss your best friend, even if he comes with benefits, and Porthos has no current urge to sleep with anyone who doesn't have a bed in this house. “ _We_ could try it.”

Athos shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says, wriggling as Aramis and Porthos stroke _almost_ every part of him. “I’m saving my kissing virginity for Brian Molko.”

“You’re obsessed,” growls Porthos and he runs a fingernail up the length of Athos’ hard on. “Imagine it’s him touching you.” 

Athos does a full body flush, blood filling every capillary, and his eyes lock closed in fantasy, lashes lying dark against his skin.

“D’you like that, babe?” Porthos growls, his heart in his mouth as he and Aramis take sudden possession of Athos’ cock, working together to get him off.

Athos’ eyes fly open and he stares up at Porthos, heady with arousal. 

“You like that too, eh?” Porthos is _aching_ hard, but he’s never felt so satisfied. He runs his free hand through Athos’ hair, twisting locks into curls.

Aramis moves until he’s kneeling. Athos’ cock is still joined in the circle of their hands, but now Aramis is licking up his thigh and along the diagonal of his hip bone. The hiss of displeasure tells them that mouths are too intimate, and Aramis laughs, knowing he’s been warned off. He licks again, keeping a safe distance this time, daubing Athos’ skin with bruises until he’s satisfied with the pattern and, when that's done, he rests back on his haunches. “Come for us, pretty man,” he says, his fingers toying with the silver chains that coil around Athos' neck, twisting them into a skein.

With a soft sigh of relief, Athos climaxes and it’s such an intensely private sound that Porthos wonders how many have heard it. They share him for a moment longer, finger painting wet pictures on his belly, then Aramis wanders off and Porthos has a moment alone with his sinfully debauched neighbour. “You’re lovely,” he says, low and gruff. “Really lovely.”

Athos gazes up at him, guileless, still out of it from the high of orgasm.

“He's a gorgeous mess,” says Aramis, coming back from the bathroom with his hands full of toilet roll. He passes a wad to Porthos, and together they clean Athos up and sort out his clothing as best they can. Skin tight jeans are murder.

“You can shower here,” says Porthos. He’d like it if they slept together again, all three of them sharing his bed.

Athos wakes out of his daze, reaching first for the wine and then for his phone. “I’d love to, but I can’t,” he says. “I have to be at the airport in an hour. I’m off to Mustique.”

“Why?” says Porthos.

“Work,” says Athos dolefully. “I have to be there.” He half smiles and squeezes their hands. “I’d rather be here with you two.”

A moment later he’s gone, slinking out of the doorway, the bottle of wine clutched in his hand like a comfort blanket, his jeans half undone and hanging off his hips.

“Well, that was-” Porthos doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“Fuck me,” demands Aramis, grabbing Porthos by a fistful of shirt. “Now.”

They’re not quite naked when they tumble into Aramis’ bed, springs of the old mattress squeaking with impatience.

“Condom?” says Porthos, going for more of the nipple play on a chest that’s surprisingly sleek.

“Here,” says Aramis, ripping open the wrapper and sliding the rubber onto Porthos’ cock, then slicking them both up. “So, we’ve both shaved for him.”

“Waxed,” says Porthos. “But yeah, we’re sad bastards.”

Aramis is about to roll over when Porthos stops him. “Can we do it face to face?” He pauses, his hand sliding upwards to cup Aramis’ cheek. “I'd like to kiss you.”

Aramis’ fingers slither around his neck, pulling him close. “I’d like that too,” he says with a tiny smile.

Their mouths meet for the first time and it’s tender at first, a nip of lips and slip of tongue, then Porthos dives into the kiss, sighing as Aramis lifts his legs and hooks them around him. The fuck that follows is just as sweet, a roll of bodies rather than the usual bang, but, despite that, neither of them last long.

They hear the building door slam shut when they’re lying together under the covers, silently trying to make sense of all things Athos.

“That man is going to screw us up,” says Aramis, his hand pulling idly at his cock. “Probably to death.”

Porthos weighs up the weird events of the past couple of months and then he laughs out loud. “He is," he agrees. He already has. "But it’ll be a wicked way to go.”


End file.
